


lasso the moon

by Polexia_Aphrodite



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Darcy/Steve Holiday Exchange, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:39:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polexia_Aphrodite/pseuds/Polexia_Aphrodite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Darcy find their way back to each other, just in time for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nessismore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessismore/gifts).



> This fic is based on two of the prompts I was given by the lovely nessismore: (1) getting caught in a snowstorm, and (2) Darcy/Steve “It’s A Wonderful Life” story, where Darcy sees what the world, and Steve in particular, would be like without her in it. Granted, this is a secularized and somewhat loose interpretation of IAWL (with scenes/bits that are more “inspired by” than “adapted from”) but, you know, hopefully you all like it anyway.
> 
> Many thanks to the fabulous katertots for looking this over and being a wonderful hand-holder and cheerleader, and to nessismore, for writing great prompts and for organizing this whole holiday exchange shebang.

Darcy likes working for SHIELD. She really does.

After Jane had started working in SHIELD’s Research and Development labs, Darcy had practically begged for a job of her own. Sure, there were other jobs she could have taken in New York – barista, waitress, Rockette – but after London, Darcy had wanted to stay where the action was, at SHIELD. And she had wanted to stay with Jane. 

But SHIELD had real scientists to fill the ranks, and Jane had been a magnet for dozens of groupies in white lab coats who had been all too eager to do every menial, thankless chore Darcy had done with gusto and without pay. 

Jane had known how lost and aimless she felt, and Darcy managed to leverage her guilt into a glowing letter of recommendation that secured her a position as Nick Fury’s Executive Assistant (anyone who dares to call her a _secretary_ earns a well-deserved dressing down). Her sharp tongue and withering glare have the power to send the sycophants who hover around Fury’s office running, and it doesn’t take long for the two of them to develop a mutually-appreciative rapport.

She likes working for SHIELD. She _wishes_ she liked New York.

The city is huge and daunting and dirty. All the sunny visions Darcy had had of exploring galleries and museums and restaurants with Jane were pretty much immediately crushed under the weight of Jane’s workload. She still sees Jane, for lunches in the SHIELD canteen or when they pass by each other in the hall, but it’s different and not enough. Too many days go by where the only humans she talks to are Fury, Coulson, and the teller at the bodega near her apartment. 

There are plenty of things she knows about herself, and she knows that she’s not good at being this alone. She’s always needed someone else to bounce off of – it’s why she picked up Intern Ian in London when Jane went catatonic. But Ian’s degree in molecular biology – the one Darcy vaguely remembers him mentioning that one time – gets him a job in Jane’s lab, and then _he’s_ gone, too. 

It’s spring when Steve Rogers starts to haunt SHIELD’s Executive Floor in earnest. Darcy had never seen him much before then, except on TV, but he becomes a fixture in Fury’s office. He always checks in with her first. Even though she _knows_ he’s just doing it out of protocol, she gives him her widest, most charming smile anyway, because he’s a hell of a lot more handsome in person, and because she’s got a thing for hunky blonds.

It feels harmless – it _is_ harmless – but Darcy starts to notice him showing up earlier and earlier for his appointments. After a few weeks, he starts bringing her cups of coffee from the canteen and sitting in the chair across from her desk while he waits for Fury to call him in. Darcy catches him up on executive-level gossip, and he tells her about Clint and Tony’s antics, and the last time Bruce blew up the lab.

He’s more fun than she’d expected. By reputation, she had thought he’d be too straight-backed and straight-laced for her. But she likes the way he laughs at her jokes, the way he smiles at her, the way he blushes when she flirts with him. When she sees his name on Fury’s schedule, something electric zips down her spine; the sight of him looming in the doorway to her office is enough to make a bad day better.

Their friendship exists in a weird limbo. They never see each other outside of SHIELD. Darcy waits for him to ask her out. Not _out_ out. Not necessarily. She’d be happy just to go for a walk, or go _out_ for coffee instead of just drinking SHIELD swill from Styrofoam cups. She wonders what they’d look like together outside of headquarters. She wonders what it would be like to be with him in jeans and t-shirts instead of trussed up in combat uniforms and pencil skirts.

But if he _did_ ask her _out_ out, Darcy knows it wouldn’t be in her power to say no. As much as it would be nice to have a friend who didn’t ditch her quite as often as Jane does now, she feels herself pulled to Steve in a way she knows is more than _that_. 

She tries to push it down, because she doesn’t know what he wants and even though he’s gotten to be relaxed and easy around her, he’s still damn hard to read. But she knows what _she_ wants: to feel what it’s like to be wrapped up in his arms, or to kiss him, or to wake up beside him. There are times she wonders what it would be like to come home to him, or to have him come home to her, but she pushes those thoughts down hard. Whenever they rise up in her mind, she knows she couldn’t be farther from being his friend.

There are a couple of near-misses – moments when he looks at her so intently, that she’s sure he’s about to ask her out ( _out_ out). And there are a few times when Darcy screws up the courage to finally tell him that she _likes_ him, goddammit, and it’s about time he just kissed her and got it over with. But there’s always some reason _not_ to – because Fury interrupts them, or because Darcy loses her nerve, or because still more aliens attack New York and their lives are thrown into chaos for a few more days or weeks.

And then the Berlin mission comes up. Fury has Darcy process the paperwork for it, and she knows that whoever takes it will be gone for months on end. 

There’s a sense of inevitability that comes with the news that Steve’s volunteered to go. Because, even though he has an impressive archive of blue jokes, which he insists he learned during his time in the army, he’s so damn _noble_. He’d volunteer for anything.

It’s hard not to feel sorry for herself. Steve leaving will mean the exit of the one bright spot in her life. The last time she sees him is on SHIELD’s helipad in the early, pre-dawn hours one morning in May. She trots behind Fury with her arms full of briefing files, trying so _hard_ not to notice how handsome he is in the dim, blue light, and wishing she wasn’t so easy to leave.

Steve gives her a long look before he boards the jet to Germany, but whatever meaning he might have tried to put in it is lost on Darcy, who’s too wrapped up in the fact this is all happening before she’s even had her first cup of coffee.

*****

A week later, Fury tells her that he’s relocating to Washington, DC, and Darcy practically leaps at the chance to go with him. There’s not enough to keep her in New York, not _now_ , and maybe what she needs is to be someplace that doesn’t remind her of missed opportunities and crumpled hopes.

*****

She muddles through a long, sweltering summer in DC as Fury’s Gal Friday, and thanks God when the weather starts to cool down again in the fall.

It’s November when she starts getting the texts.

They always come through her SHIELD phone – a sleek piece of equipment not yet available on the open market. The first time her screen lights up with the name JAMES BARNES, Darcy pulls a face and runs her fingers across the screen to open the message.

_r u coming to nyc for xmas?_

She frowns.

_Who wants to know?_

She sets her phone facedown on her desk. A second later, it vibrates and she reaches for it. On her screen is a photo of Steve at a conference table, sitting across from the photographer. 

It’s too dark and too grainy, but she can make out his furrowed brow. His eyes are fixed on the table in front of him; his mouth is a hard line. He looks serious and stern, and not at all like the easygoing, smiling man she remembers.

_his face has looked like this since he found out you left_

Something clenches in her chest; she slams the phone onto her desktop and yanks away her hand. Just seeing his face, knowing what he looks like at this exact moment, is enough to spark something nostalgic and longing and confused that’s she’s spent so much time pushing down. The idea that he might miss her – that _Bucky_ , the person who knows him best, thinks he misses her – is more than she can let herself hope for.

The phone vibrates again and she flips it over.

_he's no fucking fun anymore either_

_so christmas?_

Darcy shoves her hair behind her ears and types out a response with her free hand: _I go where Fury goes_. Her phone buzzes again, but she ignores it.

Over the next week, Bucky sends her three more photos of Steve: Steve looking mopey in the SHIELD canteen, Steve looking dour in the SHIELD gym, Steve looking gloomy in what she assumes is his apartment.

There are other photos, too – photos of Jane eating alone in the canteen, photos of the thin film of dust on her old desk, photos of expired food in the communal refrigerator (a particular, and often-vocalized, pet peeve of hers). They each come with the same message: _see what happens when you aren’t here?_

Darcy resolutely refuses to reply. She knows how good Bucky is at goading people, and she isn’t falling for it. She _isn’t_. But then he _calls_ her, and (like an idiot) she answers before checking the caller ID.

“What do you want, Barnes?” she groans when she realizes who’s on the other end of the line.

“I got a problem.”

She shrugs, “Take it up with Coulson. He’s the boss of you.”

She can hear Bucky sputter and mutter something obscene. When it comes to respecting command structure, Bucky’s impertinence runs a close second behind Tony Stark’s.

“Why’d you leave, Lewis?”

“What?” 

She hears him huff. “Why. Did you leave. New York. And don’t bullshit me.”

Darcy sighs and leans over to kick her office door closed. Even though she’s alone, she answers him in a hushed whisper anyway.

“It didn’t matter if I was there or not. Jane was—and Steve _left_ —“ she stops herself short. The way her heart had twisted when she had found out that he was headed to Berlin shouldn’t feel this fresh. “At least I’m worth something here.”

“You thought—“ Bucky starts and stops. Then, so softly she barely hears it, “That _idiot_.” He clears his throat. “You matter here, Lewis – _Darcy_. You’ve got people here. Things aren’t the same without you. How many more pictures of the Saddest Man in New York do I hafta send you?”

Darcy sighs and leans back in her chair. “What is your _deal_ , anyway? Are you trying to earn your wings for Christmas?”

“Well, I’ve got to have _something_ to wear with this halo,” she can hear the smirk in his voice. “Listen, whatever you were doin’ to Steve, you were doin’ it right. He used to have a little spring in his step an’ everything. If it’s that you don’t like _him_ —“

“ _No_.” Darcy cringes, but she can’t stop herself, “That’s not why…I mean, that wasn’t—”

Bucky chuckles. “’s what I thought.”

Darcy squeezes her eyes shut and pinches the bridge of her nose. She can feel a hot flush rising on her cheeks.

“Look,” she starts, “for as badass as Fury tries to be, he’s actually kind of helpless once you get him behind a desk. Yesterday I had to show him how to use an FTP site. It’s adorable. There’s no way he’s gonna let me skip town. You can stop bothering me about it anytime, really.” 

“’m gonna get you up here, Lewis. I got ways.” 

She hangs up on him.

It’s only an hour later when Fury calls her into his office to tell her about the Christmas party Coulson insists will improve morale at the New York office. 

Darcy smells Bucky all over it, but she reserves the jet for the two of them anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

The city is freezing cold. On the walk from her hotel to headquarters the day before Christmas Eve, Darcy slips three times on icy sidewalks, but only falls once, so she considers her journey a success. By the time she gets to her desk, her lungs are seared by wintry air, her cheeks are flushed, and the ankle she twisted on Madison Avenue aches like hell.

Of course, she sees Steve almost immediately. He’s just as she remembers him – all broad shoulders and wholesome good looks. She feels the part of her that has tried so hard to forget him – the part of her that wants nothing more than to run straight into his chest and wrap his arms around his waist, the part of her that wants him so _much_ – come rushing forward. 

When Steve sees _her_ , he immediately chastises himself for the rush of affection that takes him over. He’s spent months – _months_ – trying to rid himself of everything he felt for her - how she used to make him feel less lonely, how badly he’d wanted to find out if he could make her happy – and now, with her in front of him after so long, he can tell that all of his effort was for nothing.

Steve waves at her, then frowns when he sees that she’s favoring one ankle over the other. But when he opens his mouth to ask if she’s okay, Darcy just gives him a tight smile and limps past him at top speed. Whatever Bucky thinks, she is _not_ going down that road again. She’s going back to DC in three days, and _he’s_ going to keep disappearing across the world on SHIELD assignments. Nothing’s going to change.

*****

By the time she finishes her work for Fury, and after she’s covered the Executive Floor in tinsel, poinsettias, and strings and strings of tiny, multicolored lights, the office is empty. Heavy snow warnings have sent most of SHIELD’s agents, researchers and lab rats home for the night. Darcy’s noticed the snow falling all afternoon, and now, even in the dark, she can see white flakes swirling outside. Already dreading her hike home, she’s done her best to ignore it.

It’s half past seven when Darcy finally pulls her coat on and swings her purse around her shoulder. 

It’s half past seven when Steve appears out of nowhere, striding towards her desk in a pea coat and scarf, with a duffel bag in one hand. 

“Heading out?” he asks.

Darcy nods and gives him an impatient smile. Maybe if she’s a colossal asshole to him, he’ll forget that he ever liked her. 

“I like the, uh…” he waves a hand towards the decorations, then rubs at the back of his neck. He hates this part of himself – how nervous, anxious and tongue-tied he can get – but he won’t be able to forgive himself if he can’t get a smile out of her tonight. “It looks nice.”

“Thanks,” she shrugs. 

“C’mon,” he tilts his head towards the elevator, “I’ll walk out with you.”

She follows him across the floor, towards the bank of elevators. Her ankle still smarts, and she tries to hide the fact that she’s favoring her un-sprained side. 

“Do you want—“ he starts, pressing one hand to the small of her back, shifting his duffel bag across his shoulder and reaching for her arm with his other.

“’m fine,” Darcy snaps, shifting away from him.

The elevator is ready and waiting for them, and Darcy thanks the universe for it. The less time she has to spend pretending not to care about Steve, the better.

“How’s DC?” he asks quietly once the elevator doors have closed and Darcy has positioned herself against a railing to take some of the weight off of her ankle.

“Fine. How was Berlin?”

“Good.” 

Steve shoves his hands in his pockets and stays quiet until they hit the ground floor.

They make their way across the lobby, with the _click-click_ of Darcy’s heels echoing through the vast, empty space. 

Steve notices it first, hesitates and slows to a stop. A quick glance towards the wall of windows that separates them from the outside world brings Darcy to a halt, too.

“Ho-ly shit,” she mutters.

The snow is knee-high, at least, and still coming down. The front of the building is walled in by it. Every slab of concrete that’s been sheltered by the building’s overhang is slick with ice.

Darcy limps towards the doors and presses her hands against the glass; it’s freezing, slightly slimy with condensation, and she’s sure the temperature must be hovering around zero. The world outside is lit up in yellow streetlight, but there’s not a pedestrian or car to be seen.

“There’s no way you’re getting to Brooklyn tonight, Cap,” she tells Steve when he comes up beside her. Her hotel might as well be in Brooklyn, too, for all that she’ll be able to make it there in _this_.

Steve clenches and unclenches his jaw. It tore him up when he found out Darcy left; when he found out she was coming _back_ , all he had wanted was a moment alone – truly alone – with her. But now that he has it, he can’t read her, can’t tell if it’s what she wants, too.

“Might as well go back upstairs ‘til they start clearing the roads,” she sighs and shrugs, “Fury bought a case of peppermint schnapps for tomorrow, so there’s that.”

Darcy looks up at Steve and allows herself to give him a little commiserating smirk. In return, she gets a full-blown smile. She can almost _see_ something heavy lift off of him. Her heart catches.

“Might as well make the best of it,” he murmurs conspiratorially, dipping his head towards hers, close enough that she can feel the warmth radiating off of him. Darcy freezes; he’s so damn close to her – _too_ close – and it would be so easy just to lean up on her good toe and press her lips to his.

She shakes her head and stares at the floor as they make their way back to the elevators.

*****

Half an hour later, they’re set up in the Executive Lounge, with their jackets draped over chairs and mismatched mugs of spiked hot cocoa in their hands. Darcy turns off the overhead lights and turns on the Christmas lights. Outside, the world is dark and stormy, but in the quiet, eerily empty office, everything is warm and cozy and lit up in pink and green. All things considered, it could be worse.

Darcy settles on one of the lounge’s sofas and props up her foot on a coffee table. When Steve asks if she’s wrapped her ankle (or done anything at all that someone’s _supposed_ to do to a busted ankle), she shakes her head and he gives her a horrified look. He disappears, then reappears with an ACE bandage in his hands.

He perches on the edge of the table – he’s never quite sure what pieces of furniture will and won’t support his weight – and slides the zipper down the side of her boot. He pulls it off gingerly, cradling her calf in one warm palm and setting her heel on his thigh.

Steve tosses the boot aside and plucks at her tights.

“How much do you care about these?”

Darcy shrugs and shakes her head, because between the liquor and the feel of his hands on her, speech suddenly seems excruciatingly difficult. Anyway, the stockings are cheap and black, and her boot was already hiding a three-inch-long run.

She gasps when his fingers dig into the nylon, tearing the fabric off just above the knee and sliding the loose piece down her leg. Darcy tries not to think about how different it feels to be touched by him without layers of clothing in the way; his hands are calloused and rough and perfect. Her eyes dart up to his face, but he’s looking intently at her ankle.

“Jesus, Darcy. You’ve been walkin’ around on this all day?”

She bends over to take a look. Even in the low light, she can tell that there’s some definite swelling around the anklebone. A long, purple bruise stretches from the side of her ankle to the top of her foot.

“You know me,” she smiles, “I’m pretty tough.”

Steve just clears his throat and sets to work, pulling the beige elastic around her ankle, heel and foot, only pausing to ask if he’s wrapped it too tight, then setting it with two aluminum clasps. Darcy wonders if this is what he’s like in the field – focused and efficient. There’s something comforting about being taken care of like this, about knowing that he can handle anything.

She’s pointedly ignoring the fact that there’s something unprofessional about the way his fingertips linger just a little too long on her skin. It’s easier to imagine that the Captain is fixing her up, not Steve Rogers. 

He pulls a pillow off the couch, sets it on the table, and moves her heel from his leg to the cushion.

Steve moves sit next to her; his hip brushes hers. He takes a long swig of cocoa, letting it coat the back of his throat. 

Darcy’s quiet, with her head tipped back against the couch and her eyelids heavy. She’s beautiful, Steve decides. Just beautiful. He rubs a hand over his sternum, as though that could get some of the ache out of his chest. 

“Thanks,” she points at her ankle, “for the first aid.”

He shrugs it off; he always does. 

Darcy smiles, and he starts to think that maybe they can pick up where they left off. He tells her about everything she’s missed – about Natasha and Bucky’s stormy affair and the time Maria Hill punched Tony. He tells her about watching the seasons change in the city; he pulls his sketchbook out from his bag and hands her a flame-red oak leaf pressed between its pages. He’d thought of her when he collected it – what it would have been like to walk with her through Central Park when it was covered by a blanket of orange and yellow leaves. The trees are all bare, now. She smiles when she takes it from him, twirling it between her fingers by the stem.

He finally gets her to talk about DC, and once she starts, she can’t stop. He can tell she loves it – the frenetic energy of the city, the history and art and culture. In loving tones, she tells him about her job and her apartment, her new French press and the cat she’s thinking about getting. Steve can feel some of her prickliness towards him fading, and it makes some of the strain on his heart ease up. More than anything, though, he can see that she’s _happy_ , and that means everything.

They’re both on their second mugs of cocoa and schnapps when he brings it up. He wishes to God that he could avoid it, but as happy as she seems with her life in DC, he still can’t help but wonder why she couldn’t be happy with _him_ , too.

He looks at her for a long moment. Her skin is lit up orange under the lights, her hair is spread dark against the back of the sofa.

“Why did you leave?”

His voice is low. These aren’t the kinds of conversations he’s used to having.

Darcy turns to him. All the soft, warm feelings she’s had over the past few hours are shoved aside by a rush of indignation. She plants her hands by her hips and shifts until she’s sitting up straight.

“What— _You_ left first. Why did _you_ leave?”

He blinks, and Darcy can’t help but feel a little pleased that she’s caught him off guard.

“I thought…I never would have…” he furrows his brow and frowns. He looks so lost and concerned; it makes something sharp twinge in Darcy’s chest. He swallows and starts again, “If I’d known _you’d_ —“

“I _didn’t_ leave because of you. This isn’t about _you_ ,” she sets her jaw and tosses her hair. Because the thing about telling half-truths to Captain America (or to Steve Rogers), is that you really have to at least _look_ convincing. 

But then she hesitates, because _when_ did he move to sit so close to her, and _how _is she supposed to think straight when all she can think about is how _right_ Bucky was – Steve had missed her. He would have stayed if she’d asked him to – if she’d given him some real reason instead of just unverified hope.__

“This is _my_ life,” she insists, in spite of herself, “I’m young, and unattached, and I can do whatever I want, whenever I want.” 

“I know,” he tells her, his voice raising frantically, “I _know_. I just—“ 

“I _have_ to go back to Washington,” she looks up at him, “I _have_ to.” 

From outside the lounge, they hear Darcy’s phone erupt, ringing at its highest volume, making them both jump. She curses and hoists herself up, hobbling out of the lounge and to her desk. The Caller ID tells her it’s Fury, and she knows she can’t not answer. She picks up the receiver. 

“This is Darcy,” she practically shouts. Her nerves are shot. The fact that Steve’s followed her out with an unreadable look on his face isn’t making any of this any easier. 

Darcy half-hears Fury’s commands – something about sending an all-employee memo about the snowstorm and the cancelled Christmas party. Most of what he says is lost in the realization that Steve has moved to stand next to her. She turns to face him, just to get her bearings, wobbling slightly on her lame ankle. 

Fury drones on, but Steve suddenly has all her attention. He has that _look_ in his eyes – she’s seen it before when he’s talked about missions or the importance of saving puppies or Christmas or America or whatever – that quiet determination, like he can’t let anything stop him from seeing something through to the end. 

He wraps one arm around her waist, pressing her against him and taking some of the pressure off of her foot. For all the friendly nudges and subtle gestures they’ve shared, he’s never touched her like _this_. He noses his way through her hair, until his mouth is next to her other ear, the one that doesn’t have a phone pressed against it. 

“I know you have to go back.” Darcy’s eyes slide shut. His breath is hot on her neck; he smells crisp and clean, like aftershave. When he talks, she can feel his lips move against the shell of her ear. “But I don’t have to stay here.” 

She jerks back to look at him, because she needs to see his face to know how serious he is. It’s strange, she thinks, how talking about their feelings for each other is like talking in code – how everything they say circles around some huge implication, how it all hinges on how they decide to interpret it. 

“Who else is there, Lewis?” Fury barks in her other ear, so loud that Steve hears it and pulls back slightly. 

Steve looks down at her, and she knows what he’ll see – that she’s flushed and glassy-eyed. That her longing for him is written all over her face. That all the hard edges that she’s built up just for him have been worn away with just a few words and touches. 

“I…” she manages, “Captain Rogers is here.” 

Fury tells her to put him on speaker, and she does, pressing her finger against the phone’s plastic buttons until Fury’s voice echoes through the empty office. She doesn’t bother listening to what he tells Steve, because all that matters is the dazed, dopey way he’s looking at her. But Steve manages to throw in a few “ _yes, sirs_ ,” and Fury seems satisfied. 

Darcy can feel something huge welling up inside her, and the intense, heavy-lidded look on Steve’s face tells her that he’s in the same place. Steve brings one hand up to curl in her hair; his eyes drop to her mouth. 

“I don’t need you,” she murmurs, low enough that Fury won’t hear. 

Steve pushes the fingers of his free hand against the switchhook and unceremoniously ends the call. “I know.” 

“My life is fine the way it is.” 

His hands push through her hair to the back of her neck; the pads of his thumbs trace her jawline. 

“I know.” 

It’s more than she can take. Something white-hot coils at the base of her spine. Darcy wraps her arms around his neck and pulls herself towards him. 

When her lips meet his, her feet are practically off the ground. He’s got both arms around her, with one hand spread wide on her back and the other on her hip. 

Steve opens his mouth against hers; when her tongue licks into his mouth, his head spins and his lungs tighten. She tastes like cocoa and lipstick – sweet and sticky. Her fingernails scratch against his scalp, the nape of his neck, his shoulders. There’s a heat that blooms from his core outwards, until it feels like every inch of him is prickly-hot, until he’s ready to crawl out of his own skin. 

“ _Darcy_ —“ he pulls away and gasps against her shoulder, but she cuts him off. They’ve already gone so far across the line she had drawn between them, and she’s ready for more than their usual circuitous bullshit. 

“You can’t—“ she gasps back, searching for words “You have to _say_ —“ 

“I like you,” he meets her eyes and smiles a little ruefully, like he knows what an understatement it is, “A lot.” 

Her hands slide from his shoulders to his arms, feeling hard muscle under the soft fabric of his shirt. 

“Good,” she sniffs, “Me too.” 

He puts one big hand behind her head and pulls her in for another kiss. Darcy squirms in his arms until she’s sitting on the edge of her desk; she murmurs his name and pulls him towards her. The way her skirt slides up her thighs as he steps between her legs pulls Steve’s gaze downward. He lowers one hand, curls his fingers around the bare skin of her knee, where he tore away her tights. 

When his mouth isn’t otherwise occupied, he tells her that he’ll get a detail assignment to DC from Fury, and she promises to give him the full tour once he gets there. 

Darcy hooks her other leg around his hips, pulling until he’s fitted against her. Steve tries to keep his mind off of the heavy, rushing sensation between his legs, even if Darcy’s roaming hands, smooth skin and heady kisses don’t make it easy. 

It’s a long time before she pulls away from him again, with her lipstick smeared away and her cheeks reddened. She keeps her hands on him, though, and he keeps his on her. 

“What is it?” he murmurs, pressing his lips to her temple. 

“It’s just—This is so much to have.” 

“’s good though, right?” 

She grins and nods. 

Steve traces one hand down her arm while she catches her breath. A quick glance at the clock on her desk tells him that it’s past midnight. 

“It’s Christmas Eve.” 

Darcy smirks and rolls her eyes, “It’s Christmas Eve _day_.” 

Steve laughs at the correction, closes his arms around her, and tucks his face against her shoulder.

“Who needs Christmas, anyway,” Darcy’s lips meet the side of his neck, “I already got what I wanted.” 


End file.
